


Sunshine

by houdini74



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22631140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: David can't stop humming a particular song. If only he could figure out what song it is.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 60
Kudos: 226





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Just some straight fluff about songs and pet names. Rated T for language.

Patrick is humming into his shoulder.

It’s a regular occurrence. David has learned that Patrick is a musical packrat, collecting every snippet of melody that comes across his path, from the soft jazz they play at the store to David’s favorite Mariah playlist. He hums under his breath constantly, a wordless soundtrack usually lost amidst the ebb and flow of the day, except in moments like this, when they’re tangled together in Patrick’s bed, drowsy in the morning sunshine, Patrick’s arms snug around David’s chest, his face tucked into the back of David’s shoulder. 

Most of the time, David doesn’t know the songs that Patrick sings into his skin. Patrick’s playlist differs from his own, filled with acoustic guitars and accordions instead of pop divas. He complains, given the opportunity, but he’d listen to Patrick sing the CNN news ticker if it meant he could stay here, safe in the circle of his arms. He’s warm and cozy, and he snuggles closer to Patrick, only to be rewarded as an arm tightens around his chest and the wordless singing gets a little louder.

There’s something about this song that’s familiar. The melody slides over his skin like a warm blanket anchored by the feel of Patrick’s skin against his. It makes him think of his childhood. Of the time he’d had the chicken pox and Adelina had tucked him into the sofa in the sunroom and sung him to sleep while his skin itched and burned. 

“What song is that?” The humming stops and there’s a bit of a pause before Patrick answers.

“It’s not...it’s nothing.” It’s not like Patrick to be cagey about this. Usually he’s only too happy to rattle off the name of some Canadian folk song that he’s picked up from CBC radio. 

“It sounds familiar.”

“Hmm.” Patrick’s hand strokes down his stomach until he finds the ticklish spot at the top of his hip. David writhes as Patrick flexes his fingers. He turns to face his boyfriend, song forgotten as Patrick kisses him, his lips chasing as Patrick’s hand moves lower, distracting him for once and for all. 

The song gets lodged in his head. No matter how much Mariah he listens to, it lives in the back of his mind, a wordless snatch of melody on an endless loop, slowly driving him crazy. He finds himself humming it in those moments when the voice in his head is quiet, in the shower, as he restocks the store, in bed at the motel on those nights when they’re apart and he wishes Patrick was beside him, soothing him with soft touches.

It’s a week later when he hears it again. He’s lying across Patrick’s bed, fucked out and boneless, his head on Patrick’s chest, when the melody emerges from the midst of the low hum beneath his ear. 

“Patrick…” Talking is too much effort, but he forces the words out anyway. “What song is that?”

The humming stops. Patrick doesn’t answer right away and when he does, he sounds embarrassed. “Uh, it’s nothing, it’s just a song that makes me think of you.” Patrick says these impossibly sweet, intolerably sincere things sometimes, as though they’re not supposed to affect him, like they don’t light him up inside like a fucking Christmas tree.

He forces his mind to skip over the revelation that Patrick is humming the song _for_ him and focuses on figuring out what it is. “Okay, but you either need to tell me what the song is or stop singing it, because you’re making me crazy.”

“You are my sunshine.” Patrick will be the death of him. This must be what dying feels like, with his skin heating up and his heart beating faster, just from hearing the cheesiest line in the universe. 

“Cute.” He presses a kiss to the soft skin of Patrick’s stomach, distracting himself with his boyfriend’s body, his mouth seeking out the sparse hair on Patrick’s abdomen, smiling as it quivers when Patrick laughs at the ticklish brush of David’s lips.

Beneath him, Patrick shrugs. “See? It’s nothing.”

“Wait, you’re serious?” In his mind, he can hear the words to the old song drop into the melody that’s stuck in his head. Patrick’s hand combs through his hair and he hums the song again, with the words this time. 

_You make me happy, when skies are grey_

Patrick drops the song and he kisses the top of David’s head. “You’re my sunshine, David.”

He makes a face that Patrick can’t see, trying to cover up the smile that refuses to be contained. He would have laughed if anyone other than Patrick had said such a thing, not that anyone ever would have, but now he just cuddles closer, his own humming mixing with Patrick’s.

The next morning, he burrows deeper into the covers when he feels the mattress shift as Patrick gets up before him. Patrick will let him sleep for an extra hour before he ruthlessly forces David out of bed and into the shower. Sometime later, when he’s hazy and incoherent with sleep, Patrick pulls the bedspread back far enough to press a kiss to his forehead as he sets a cup of coffee on the nightstand. “Morning, Sunshine.”

He wants to protest, to complain about the incorrectness of pet names, but it makes him feel warm, as though Patrick has ignited a tiny flame inside him, his words coaxing it to life, making David burn brighter than sunshine.


End file.
